Early to Rise
by EverythingIsMagic
Summary: England has always been a morning person, someone who believes it's best to be up with the dawn. But America has other ideas. Sleeping in? That's what Saturday mornings are for! Now he just needs to convince England of it... AmericaxEngland. Fluff.


**Author's Note:** Just a fluffy USxUK oneshot I randomly popped out. Established relationship- pure, unadulterated fluff.

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**Early to Rise**

_By Everything is Magic_

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England had always been an early riser. As the sun crept over the horizon, its white rays of morning creeping into his window, then across his bed in panes formed by the blinds it had snuck through, England awoke. Every day. Constantly. It was little matter what time he'd gone to bed the night before. He might have been out drinking until two a.m., or up until four a.m. performing activities of a nature he was far too gentlemanly to speak of (although America knew, being that he was… on the receiving or giving end, depending on the night), but even then he slipped into consciousness, padded down to the kitchen, and treated himself to a spot of tea (and an aspirin, if he had been drinking the night before).

This morning was no exception. He shielded his eyes as they slid open, the bright of daybreak letting him know what time it was without even glancing at a clock. This was grand, because he could hardly make out the digital numbers from where he was trapped in the middle of America's very spacious bed.

Trapped, because both he and America were utterly tangled in twisted piles of sheets; not to mention, America himself was rather entwined around England.

His head rested between England's chest and the crook of his neck, and Nantucket brushed against his chin and mouth, the golden blonde hair tickling. America's soft breaths warmed England's bare chest, and the older nation sighed. America's arms were quite snugly wrapped around his center, right above the waistline of his boxer shorts. His legs were scissored through England's, one shoved underneath the other man's lower limbs, and the other on top, one foot and ankle snaked around a leg, pulling it closer to America.

It was almost as if America were a koala, and England his human teddy bear. He chuckled, quiet and deep in his throat, and leaned down to place a kiss atop America's head, his silky hair a downy pillow beneath England's lips.

A muffled yawn against his chest, and England peeked down to see one blue eye creaked open. "Good morning, America," he said crisply, as if he'd gotten a full eight hours of sleep.

"'rning…" America mumbled, the first half the word lost in the drowse of sleep and the fact that his mouth was still half against England's chest. He removed his hands from the older nation's waist and rubbed his eyes blearily. "What the hell you doing awake?" He asked, yawning again.

England blinked. "I always wake up this early."

America snorted, resting his arms on England's chest, and then resting his head on top of them. "It's Saturday… and we went to bed like… four hours ago or something."

"I wake with the sun. You know that," England huffed.

"You really are an old man. D'you want me to come downstairs and help you with your morning crossword?"

"I can do it quite well enough on my own!" He flushed in irritation.

America laughed, although it was still thick with sleep. "Stay in bed, England."

"No…" England averted his eyes, not wanting to succumb to America's inevitably pleading baby blues.

"Why not?"

"I have things to do, and it's not productive being asleep when the sun is shining!" He reasoned, frowning.

America sighed deeply, unwrapped his legs from England's, untwisted them from the bed sheets, and hopped off the mattress. With surprising speed, considering the fact that he was half awake, he bounded across his room and stopped next to the large window.

"Well then!" He grinned, grabbed the pole that hung next to the blinds, and twisted it, closing them. "Tada! Now you can't tell the sun is shining. Problem solved."

England smacked his palm to his forehead. "It's morning. My body _knows_ it's morning, whether you darken the bloody room or not."

America sat back down on the bed, the springs bouncing underneath him. "It's Saturday! We have nothing to do."

"So you want me to waste the day away in bed?" England was sitting up now, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the headboard.

"It's seven a.m."

"Yes, meaning the day has begun," he retorted. "Do you need your beauty sleep or something? I can assure you that you're quite all right without it."

At this, America grinned. "Oh, I get it!" He pounded his fist in his hand, and the grin turned into a smirk. "You want to wake up this early so you can spend more time staring at your hot boyfriend?"

England's eyes widened and his cheeks burned red. "N—now you're just being ridiculous! I've always done this, ever since I was small. Don't get me wrong, it's not as if I stare at y--"

He was shushed with a kiss, soft and sweet, but still firm and fervent, although mixed with a small dose of morning breath, which was hardly attractive but well—he tended to forgive such small things when America was kissing him like this.

America pulled away, his lips grazing England's chin as he did so. "What do you have in mind that's more awesome than spending a morning in bed with me?"

England scoffed, attempting to will away the heat that still filled his cheeks. "Your breath is terrible."

The younger nation rolled his eyes, shifting into a comfortable sitting position facing England. "Yeah, 'cuz yours was a lot better."

"Whatever." He crossed his arms again. "And for the record, I can think of many things more 'awesome' than lying with you this morning."

"Like?" America cocked an eyebrow.

"Well," England paused. "There are… a lot of… things."

America reached forward and poked the tip of England's nose with his finger. "Tell me."

"N-no! It's none of your business." He swatted America's hand away. The younger nation beamed, and wrapped his long arms around England's center.

"Man England, you've definitely convinced me."

"Oh shut up," he argued weakly.

"I'll give you another kiss?" America offered, now rubbing one hand up and down England's back. The Briton stiffened, then relaxed under his touch.

"Only if you brush your teeth," he countered. America shrugged and yawned, giving England a fresh whiff of morning breath. England cringed.

"If you get minty fresh kisses, then I get them too." He stopped and stroked one section of England's back, home of a particularly stubborn knot of muscle. "You really do need to relax, England."

"I had planned on brushing my teeth as well."

America gave England one last pat on the back and pulled away, sliding off the bed. "Then we can go back to bed?" He stretched his arms up and yawned, heading toward the bathroom and motioning the Brit to follow him. England felt a yawn coming on as well, much as he was a morning person; he _hadn't_ slept much the previous night. He stood up and joined America in the bathroom.

America tossed England a tube of toothpaste, and he scowled. "Hand me some normal toothpaste, you git. Not your blasted 'Crest Kids Sparkle Fun'." He placed the tube beside the sink.

"It works the same as normal toothpaste," America retorted, turning the tap on to wet his brush, "except it's more awesome and tastes like bubblegum."

England had already opened the drawer beside the sink to snatch another tube of toothpaste, the one he usually used when he was over. He reached over America's arm to grab his toothbrush from the cup that held it. He put the toothpaste on, wetted the brush, and brushed his teeth opposite America.

"I suppose," England said after rinsing his mouth out with a glass of water, "that you should be glad I don't hate the taste of bubblegum."

America grinned, tossing his toothbrush back into the cup. "Wouldn't matter. You'd still kiss me."

A yawn and America was padding back to the bed, having crossed the threshold from the tiled bathroom to the carpeted bedroom.

England stretched his arms above his head and followed, joining America back on the bed. "Lucky for you then?"

America grinned, easy and sure. "Yeah, I'm pretty lucky to have you, aren't I?"

At this, England's face pinked. "C-c-course you are."

"You didn't answer my question from earlier." America paused, lying down and adjusting himself to a comfortable position. He patted the spot next to him. "We're gonna go back to bed, right?"

England sighed. He was stretching his arms, he was yawning, and he did feel rather bleary. Personal habits or not, maybe it would be better to… and he did have nothing to do and… well, sleeping intertwined with America's warm body was hardly unpleasant. "All right," he replied, "but you owe me something first."

America blinked in confusion for a moment, before a smile crept across his lips. "Lay down then!" England did so, situating himself in the place where America's hand had been. The younger nation curled up next to him and pulled England's face toward him, capturing his lips in the promised kiss. "I have to kiss you to put you _to_ sleep?" America inquired, once he'd pulled away.

England rolled his eyes and snuggled against him, his head on his chest and the calming sound of his heartbeat beneath his ear.

"It's not so bad," he said after a minute, while America stroked his back to the rhythm of England's breathing.

He felt America kiss the top of his head, and he closed his eyes, sleep beginning to overtake him. "S'what Saturday mornings were made for, England."


End file.
